


Steps on the Road to Perdition

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Preseries, Underage Sex, whore!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel finds temptation in a Time where Dean Winchester is supposed to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steps on the Road to Perdition

Time hadn’t been created by his Father to be a linear thing, to flow evenly and logically between points. Humans believed that Time was the nonspatial continuum of events that occurred in an irreversible succession from the past, to the future. Instead, Time and its spaces of actuality co-existed with one another, weaving in and out like rivers and oceans.

And in this space, in this Time, Dean Winchester was going to die.

Dean, no more than fifteen years of existence, walked ahead of him along the dark, quiet street. Castiel looked him over and noticed how… different he was than the Dean he knew. The boy didn’t possess that cock-sure swagger, the straight and determined posture that had often exemplified that familiar _give-‘em-hell_ attitude. Here, in this Time, Dean’s younger reflection walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets, gaze fixed to the ground. It was the unsure stature of a soldier’s boy; a youth too innocent and naive to know his place in the world. Castiel was proud to know that young Dean would grow out of his awkwardness, yet he’d never lose that heavy stone on his shoulders. A stone that was made up of countless worries and regrets.

The symbolism wasn’t lost on Castiel as young Dean kicked a small stone across the street. Even now there was a certain determination set in the line of his small shoulders, a sense of mission that Castiel regretted. Always the selfless one, Dean hoped to provide for his brother in the only way he knew how. Hustling pool and cheating weren’t enough to put food on the table any more. With his father out hunting, there was only one way to give Sam what he needed to survive.

Dean would never see the sadness in Castiel’s eyes, would never see the angel staring at him like this. Castiel was nothing more than a long shadow at his back, a slight trick of the wind against his hair. The gentle, unexplainable pull on his shoulder that desperately tried to keep him away from the danger ahead.

The young boy tossed a wary gaze over his shoulder, peering into the blackness. He wouldn’t see the heartbreak on Castiel’s face, wouldn’t hear the words—

“You deserve to be saved.”

—before he turned around and headed in that same direction. Dean walked toward the bar, loud noises thumping and neon lights blinding and offensive. Humans gathered here, drank copious amounts of alcohol and spilled into the night, high on laughter and misdemeanor. Castiel didn’t owe any love to these beings, had only spared them because Dean Winchester had taught him to appreciate the brevity of their wasteful lives. The angel glanced at them now, almost pityingly, and then disregarded them with the tightening of his jaw. He hadn’t seen what Dean saw in them once. Castiel had only seen pain, hate, judgment, nothing to save at all. But it was Dean Winchester who had changed all that. Through the window of a heart too big, Castiel had changed _because_ of Dean.

Castiel watched the young boy slip around the corner and take his place by the mouth of the alleyway. As planned, the angel took up protective watch a few feet from him and waited. Over the course of an hour, Castiel had watched Dean strike up conversations with several men. The young boy had used his wit and undeniable charm to lure them into a sense of ease, offering his services only after they had felt comfortable. It was a skillful approach, one that Castiel found rather impressive. Convincing. _Tempting_.

Castiel frowned away the impure thoughts in his head, silently admonishing himself for his iniquity; something that suddenly felt thick and filthy on his skin. He didn’t need to list the reasons why this was wrong, why thinking this way was inappropriate. Yet somehow, for whatever reason, his body needed convincing, having responded in a way that was adverse. _Sinful_.

_Stay keen on your mission, Castiel. Concentrate on something else._

Anything. His selflessness. The goodness of his heart…

Castiel zeroed in on the brightness of Dean’s soul. Even in the darkness of the alleyway, even though Dean’s intents weren’t pure, his soul was the most brilliant Castiel had ever seen. His soul often flared like a thousand suns whenever Dean thought of his brother and it was during those times that Castiel had found himself needing to look away. Here, in the blackness of humanity, Dean’s soul was a light that reminded Castiel of Heaven. A light that filled the emptiness of his heart when he thought of home, a thing of beauty that cured his loneliness. Something that was so precious, so delicate and giving, that it shouldn’t have been created to endure such hardships. Hardships, Castiel knew, that were threaded deep into his fate.

It wasn’t long before Dean found his first customer. Castiel knew immediately that this man didn’t pose a threat to Dean’s well-being. Although his soul was tainted, much darker than Dean’s, the man wasn’t evil. Simply a normal, decent human being with a wife and child, bored in his daily routine and looking for the thrill of something new. With his eager mouth and desire to please, Dean was going to be his _something new_. Castiel’s Grace wept.

Castiel turned away from the proceedings, but could hear the sounds. The spine-chilling smack of wet lips and deep, appreciative groans. He didn’t need to be human in order to feel nauseated, to know that this was so very wrong. Castiel knew it wasn’t his mission to rip apart the man for touching _his_ charge, yet he couldn’t shelve the anger he felt boiling inside him. Anger because that man wasn’t touching Dean with utmost care, handling him like he would precious, expensive china. Instead, when Castiel dared to steal a glance, the animal was rough with him, treated him as if he were nothing but a worthless street urchin. If he only knew of the boy’s importance…

Castiel gripped his fists tight and remained invisible, doing nothing when the man found his orgasm and paid Dean. The shuffle of feet left both boy and angel alone in the alley.

“Cheap ass,” Dean mumbled.

Castiel watched as Dean counted his earnings, stuffing the bills in his pockets with a huff. In his idle moment, Dean fingered the small medallion around his neck and his soul brightened tenfold. The simple beauty, the ingrained purity of that light made Castiel look away. It was only until he felt a darkness prickling his skin that he dared look back.

Around the corner, staring at Dean, was a man with a dark soul. He leered at the young boy, sizing him up from head to toe. This _thing_ wasn’t here to partake in otherwise harmless acts of carnal pleasure. His sole intent and purpose was to slaughter Dean and leave the pieces behind. In other spaces of Time, his success had left Sam without a brother, had led the younger Winchester to commit suicide in the fourteenth year of his existence. Here, in this actuality, Castiel couldn’t let that happen.

“Uh—hey, man,” Dean greeted cautiously. “You looking for some company?”

Even at this age, Dean’s instincts were honed appropriately. The young boy backed away slowly when the dark-souled man took a step forward.

“Hey. I don’t want any trouble,” Dean whispered softly.

The man wasn’t quick enough. With a blur of movement, Castiel was there, behind him, grabbing the assailant’s wrist before he could strike at Dean with the concealed knife. The angel twisted the man’s arm and slammed him face-first into the wall, breathing harsh words into his ear.

“If you ever harm another living soul, I _will_ find you. Hell hath no fury like a soldier of _God_.”

Castiel let him go. Stumbling, the man gripped his bloodied nose, running out of the alleyway and into the street. Dean’s shuffling caught his attention and Castiel turned to look into those beautiful, green eyes. Even now, at such a young age, those eyes carried wisdom far beyond his years. Wisdom and responsibility. Guilt. Indescribable _heartbreak_.

“Thanks for uh—saving my life, I guess,” Dean said while looking him over. He arched a brow. “You some sort of religious nut or something?”

Castiel almost couldn’t stop himself from staring at him. He licked his lips, his voice hoarse. “No.”

“Tax accountant?”

“No.”

Dean studied him a while longer. With no conclusion, the young boy shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I should pay you back for what you did to that guy. He looked like he was gonna stick me good.”

“That’s not necessary—” _Dean_.

“Come on. It’s the least I can do. Just let me suck you off.”

Dean took a step forward. As if Dean were a disease, Castiel nearly jumped back and put a hand out in defense. “No.”

“Look, dude, I don’t know what you’re problem is, but your mouth is saying one thing while your dick is telling me something else.”

Castiel followed Dean’s gaze down to his pants, noting the hard outline between his legs. He felt the heat rise in his face, Dean’s green eyes burrowing into his bones. Castiel was _ashamed_ of himself, guilty with sin. But Dean didn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite. Dean seemed to appear encouraged.

“It’s okay. Let me just—”

Without hesitation, Dean got on his knees. Castiel didn’t even have a chance to back away before Dean grabbed his hips and pulled him closer. Everything in Castiel’s conscience, his central sense of right and wrong, told him to fight this temptation, to leave Dean behind and label his mission a success. But his heart, the powerhouse of his love for Dean, begged him to give in, to revel in his touch, and delight in his devotion. He was lost in his choice between sin and purity when Dean mouthed his hard length through his pants. With the loss of cognitive thinking, Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to stop him. The warmth of his mouth, the pressure—

“ _Please_ … stop this.”

Castiel didn’t intend for his words to come out so breathlessly. Instead of stopping, Dean mouthed his cock harder, kissing, nuzzling it with gentle affection. Castiel caught himself groaning, losing himself in the heat of Dean’s breath through the simple fabric. He could stop all of this now, Castiel knew, tear the claws of this temptation out of his skin and still keep his dignity. But the way Dean started unbuckling his belt, slow and teasing, the way he looked up at him with the lick of his lips. Nothing could prepare Castiel for how quickly or how deeply he dove into sin.

With his pants unbuckled and zipper down, Dean started mouthing him again. Simple cotton, thin and light, was the only thing separating Castiel’s cock from the wet heat of Dean’s mouth. He ached for it, never having ached for anything else quite like this, and bit back a moan when Dean peppered gentle kisses along his hard length. One here, two there, right at the tip. A shiver of anticipation slithered down Castiel’s spine. And when Dean freed his cock from his clothing, Castiel finally decided to dance with the Devil.

Dean’s mouth was satiny-smooth, hot and eager. Castiel bit his bottom lip as Dean swallowed him down whole, bobbing up and down on his shaft like he was meant for this. Everything, the wetness of Dean’s mouth, the enthusiasm, made Castiel lose the fight with his shattered willpower. He gave in and groaned, dragging gentle fingertips against the back of Dean’s neck. It was Dean’s turn to moan and the noise vibrated around his cock, shaking him to the core. Castiel gripped the hair at the base of his head as Dean grew more enthusiastic, sucking harder, faster. He found it hard to keep his focus, eyes rolling in the back of his head while another groan shot out of his throat.

Somehow, he found enough mind to look down at Dean, watching him slide up and down his length, adding the twist of a hand to make everything.. absolutely incredible. The intimacy only heightened when their eyes met, held and didn’t let go. The small tick of a smile found the corner of Dean’s lips, more of a sly and charming thing than a gesture born of mirth. Castiel watched as Dean opened his mouth wide and stick out his tongue. It enabled Castiel to watch his own hard length begin its slow glide into Dean’s mouth. The wet slick of saliva, the spot of precome on the back of his tongue—it was the most.. erotic thing he had ever seen. He couldn’t concentrate. His body needed its release, the urge was.. _so close_.

Dean didn’t seem to care. He closed his mouth over Castiel’s cock and sucked more forcefully, slipping up and down it even faster. Castiel couldn’t stop watching. The slide of Dean’s lips over his erection, the drool pooling at the corner of his mouth. Castiel forgot about everything. Heaven. The delicate balance between right and wrong. Breathing… Another moan ripped past his throat when Dean angled his cock upward and back, dragging it along the roof of his mouth. The pressure on the head with the sucking combined—

“Ignosce mihi, pater, quia pec­cavi..”

The old words were made unholy by the force of another groan. His vessel’s release was _just there_ and Castiel couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to stop this.

Dean issued a hiss of protest when Castiel pulled him off. The absence of Dean’s mouth on him was excruciating. The heat, the promise of orgasm lost.. Before he could think, before his conscience could scream at him, Castiel hoisted Dean up and pressed him against the wall. It was instinctive the way Dean wrapped his legs around his body, clinging and closing the gap between them. His green eyes flew open wide when he discovered that, by the trick of something supernatural, his lower half was suddenly bare. The pupils were blown with surprise, lust, mouth parted and frozen somewhere between bliss and fear. For whatever reason, Dean didn’t seem to care that the head of Castiel’s cock was at his hole. He was far too gone for that. Castiel could _feel it_.

“Do you want this?”

Dean fumbled with logical thought. “Wha—“

“Do you want this!”

“Yes— _fuck_.. yes!” Dean groaned.

Castiel didn’t hesitate. He speared Dean with his hard cock, splitting him open with a roughness he hadn’t intended. Dean’s groan was loud and sharp, carried over several long notes of ecstasy. The thrusts were powerful, quick, and Dean crumbled beneath it all, calling out with a moan every single time. Castiel fought back his own, feeling his orgasm burning in the depths of himself; his body, his Grace… his _heart_. Even in the throes of their sin, Castiel couldn’t ignore how much he loved Dean. Here, a thousand years ago, three hundred in the future—it was an absolute truth that would never change. It was as timeless as Creation itself. Never-ending.

The physical manifestation of his love continued its hard, fast rush toward completion, making his skin tingle and a shiver roll up his spine. Dean tilted his chin up and kept on with these beautiful, deep noises; filthy groans that could have easily alerted both demons and angels to their deviance. Each one of them left Castiel raw, on the verge of falling completely apart. Desperation made Castiel dive forward to nip at Dean’s throat, kiss it, suck on it and taste the sweetness of his skin. He kept his steady, hard rhythm, thrusting into him once, twice more before finally feeling it; the divinity of his body’s culmination. It struck him like a bolt of lightning, filling him with an unbelievable warmth and sensation of absolute freedom. Castiel pressed his face into sweet skin, kissing his collar bone, while Dean found his orgasm, holding him through it, never wanting to let go. Between the aftershocks and the spiral downward, they both became boneless against each other. Liquid. _One_.

When they peeled apart, Dean stepped back and pressed himself against the wall as if to catch his breath. He looked completely tranquil and satisfied. Castiel couldn’t help but take quiet pride in that. But the guilt, the crushing, unmistakable guilt, found Castiel and shamed him. He was stunned into silence.

Dean was the first to break it. “Holy shit, man. That was—“

“Promise me you won’t do this again,” Castiel blurted out.

“What?”

“Promise me!”

Dean startled. “I promise! _Fuck_.”

Castiel frowned and turned away. His mission was done.

“Uh—hey.”

Castiel inwardly sighed and stopped his retreat, not bothering to look at him.

“I know you saved my life and all, but,” Castiel heard Dean sigh. “Look, I gotta eat, man. I got a brother at home. Do you think you can spare some change?” A pause. “You gotta admit. That was pretty amazing. Doesn’t that deserve a little.. somethin’?”

_Always selfless._

Castiel turned back and handed him a thick roll of bills—currency that had manifested with a thought. Dean took it with wide eyes.

“You promised.”

And with that, Castiel disappeared.

:::

Around them, sparks flew and the heat from the shotgun’s lead shot burned against his skin. Dean’s beautiful face was awe-stuck, green eyes wide in surprise.

“Who are you?”

“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.”

Dean stared at him, caught between recognition and confusion.

“Do I… know you?”


End file.
